Date or Dare
by jack63kids
Summary: Dr Watson has met a young woman who he has feeling for, but who treats him like a 'friend of the family'. Sherlock, who has been consulting her on a case, is fed up of them bickering and suggests they sort out their relationship. Tomb-stoning is jumping off very high places into water. It's called that for good reason - many jumpers end up under a tombstone. Don't try this at home!
1. Chapter 1: Date or Dare

**_Date or Dare is set between the summer and Christmas of when Dr Watson meets a young woman who comes to ask Sherlock's advice about some mysterious packages of money that she has been receiving. _**_**This short is written to give some background as to why he finds her so appealing after not knowing her for long and why it's love rather than lust that he's feeling.**_  
><strong><em>He finds her very attractive but she treats him like an older uncle and he knows that his feelings for her are not reciprocated. The tension between the two of them is such that even Sherlock is bothered.<em>**

**NB** Stylistically, I include a lot of ... and - to give an idea that this is John chatting to himself and maybe how someone would write a blog or a personal diary. It's intended to be informal, though he'd never post any of this online in case she or Sherlock got to read it.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: <strong>**_Date or Dare_**  
>Sherlock was working on a case that had absorbed him for some days before he called on her as a 'consultant' to a Consultant Detective. I'd been intrigued about what that would entail until she was there for a whole weekend talking about handles, hinges, locks and other door furniture with Sherlock in rather longer bursts than was necessary in my view - now to be honest, I'd rather not have known. Sherlock seldom slept during this time and frequently stopped either of us from getting any too.<p>

He would suddenly call out a question and when it was not answered immediately by either of his sleeping companions, he would leap out of his chair and shake whichever of us he thought would or could answer. He often got this badly wrong, ending up waking us both, so if Sherlock didn't sleep - we didn't sleep either.

Anyone would be irritable after that kind of proximity and sleep deprivation - the gestapo could have learnt a thing or two from Sherlock - it's not surprising it all kicked off after a sleepless night, or three.

Added to that the two of them treated me with contempt when they even noticed I was in the room. Sherlock held out his mug, without looking up, at fairly regular intervals in the certain knowledge that I'd fill it with something to keep him awake for that while longer that he needed. ... And neither had given me any eye contact since they had started on their mysterious quest.

There were several occasions where I found them unbearable to be with and had to leave and when I was there ...

I had only to mention that the new laptop was performing unpredictably and she'd lean over my shoulder and make a swipe movement and the whole screen changed back again to what I'd been working on. It was humiliating!

And as for cooking! They either belittled my efforts or ate without leaving their desks or breaking their unfathomable chat. When I complained of being hungry and refused to cook the next meal she walked speechlessly into the kitchen. Moments later she came out again, plonking an opened jar of peanut butter with three teaspoons sticking out the top onto the table.

And later it got worse. She decided that she needed some 'proper' food and set off into my kitchen!

All I suggested was that a tin of tomatoes would elevate a boring rice dish into something reasonable edible ... I can't remember the time someone, other than Sherlock, looked at me like that. Ok, so her risotto _was_ exceptional good, without the tomatoes, but I really was only try to help.

I'd kept my cool after so many 'last straws', but Sherlock broke first - though this is all your fault Sherlock!

"Right that's it - I'm going out - you need to have it out ... have a row ... have _sex_ ... I don't care, but sort it by the time I'm back. You've until 23.07!" and he was gone.

Our heads turned as if in a bizarre, slowmo game of tennis - just the one way, toward to Sherlock's retreating back. "_Oooo! Get Her_!"

"What was that about?" I agreed.

And then we laughed and talked ...

"John, you ever played 'Date or Dare?" - I shook my head wondering where this latest tease could be headed.

"Friends of mine played it when they were having problems with their friendship and it really works, as well as being a huge amount of fun. Sherlock really doesn't need me on the case and I'm desperate for a break so would really appreciate you giving it a shot."

"Depends." I was suspicious. "What does it entail?"

"Ok, it's simple. One of us chooses either 'date' of 'dare' to start off with and the other has to 'organise' whichever is proscribed, for the asker. Then swop and reciprocate."

"So what constitutes a Dare?" I asked warily.

"Depends on the person you're partnered with, what you know about them and what you think would 'get' to them." she explained. "Best ones challenge what you know about the other person, something that scares that person to the core but that you can turn into something that's fun. It's supposed to show that you know them better than they do and make them see you differently."

I asked for examples - this would likely give her even more power over me, and I wasn't warming to the idea as yet. Though 'date' ... now that sounds ok ... what could be bad there!? ... oh, right, major broken heart ... general emotional carnage ... that one's never going to end well for me ...

"Oh right. The simplest ones are physical - bungee jumping, tomb stoning, day on the trapeze with a circus troop, flying a plane that kind of thing. Then there's personal embarrassment - people are pretty uninspired on that - tends to involve getting naked in a public place. Sex is out though of any kind. It's an unfair one given the whole thing is supposed to be platonic and you do have a lot of personal power over the other person. But you can say no, but then the whole Game is over - no more dares, no more dates from when you refuse anything set up for you - I've only done that once ...

"Then there's humiliation. Getting someone to do something that they find extremely difficult or makes them look a clot in a public arena. Making a dyslexic join a spelling-bee is unnecessary and a bit prejudiced, but there are other options if you use your imagination ... The clever one are subtle.

"Ones I've either had done to me, or arranged for other people ... hurm ... early one of mine, I got my friend Derek to go to his usual launderette with only a sachet of washing powder and some softener. Challenge was he had to wash and dry every stitch he was wearing - not including his shoes - and wasn't allowed to leave until he'd done so. I said folks tend to go for getting naked - wasn't my most imaginative ... early days ... got better since ... Had unforeseen consequences though - well unforeseen by him anyway - that he stopped mooning around after me and is now very happy married, thank you very much, to the woman he shared his conditioner with - and that's not a euphemism, btw! Touching how close he got to that pair of trainers too - his wife says he still has them ...

"I once had someone get me to do lap dancing in a club - neither particularly scary, nor in the slightest bit fun and not impressed he collected my 'tips' to pay for the 'date' - we didn't get that far, in case you wondered.

"Need to have food included ... people need to eat ... oh and there's a ceiling on the cost too - £50 for each activity, included transport, food, activity ... you can call on friends to provide freebies, call in favours, I advise you meet there to save on transport to and from the rendezvous ... basically it's to stop folks getting carried away with impressing with how much they're prepared to spend and to use their imaginations a little ... just think, this is something Sherlock could excel at, but wouldn't go near with a barge pole! Just as well - it'd be a bit of a challenge to find something that would scare him other than talking to people about trivia ... would be hard to tell the difference between 'date' and 'dare' in his case too.

"You're a newbie, so you'd get to choose first and I'd have to 'go' first. Better that way, believe me. I've seen too many people go too far with folks that had something really tame in mind for them, believing that something over the top would be a winner - it's not about winning or losing either, by the way. Horrible consequences happen when people go too far in this game - untimely end of friendships ... though you'd think they'd have not lasted long anyway given their differing agendas."

"And there are rules: max spend is £50 per date or dare, no sex related activities, no recruiting naive under 18s for a thrill, six hours max for a dare, twelve for a 'date', though when and where are up to you, Doc."

"Ok, can I make a rule? No Doc, no Dr Watson for the duration - just John ... please. And I'm going to regret this, but I choose "dare'.


	2. Chapter 2: The Game Is On

Chapter 2: The Game Is On

I was sleep deprived when I agreed to this ridiculous game, and now, while I'm waiting for the text telling me when and where, I'm having fifteenth thoughts on this one. She already humiliated me just by being in the same room and treating me like an old friend of the family ... what she could do with a little forward planning and my cooperation didn't bear thinking about.

And then it came at exactly 5.45pm that Thursday night as she'd said:

yr good jeans, yr Loake shoes, shirt - none of those checked things please - t-shirt fine, no tie - await instructions - XX

And then we were on ... The phone bleeped again the moment I'd changed. I got the uncomfortable feeling of being watched and even checked what Sherlock was doing, but found him pouring over papers on his desk, oblivious to anything going on outside his head.

POST CODE 7pm

It was like working for MI5 - or what I think it would be like working for MI5 - though I have to say that Mycroft sends a car, so maybe so would they ...

So there I was, standing on a street in the middle of a London high street, feeling like a complete twot when she walks up, takes my arm, like the most natural thing in the world, and leads me into a very ordinary London pub. So what's the catch! I have to start a pub brawl? Take on armed gunmen? ... Do a striptease! Oh good grief, no, not the last of those, please no, ...

Ok, John, I've heard you hum, so here it is - your challenge." ... She handed me a 'menu' with a list of songs ... oh my good grief and I thought taking my kit off was bad! ... And enjoying my discomfort. "There's a word for what you're doing", I said with a mouth as dry as a small desert. "Schadenfreude!"

She was still grinning.

"In the spirit of the game, I'll go easy and take a turn first. I'm not entirely merciless, John."

How exactly was that going to help! I'd heard her sing and she didn't sound anything like a crow or a startled goose even. Oh my good grief!

I have a picture perfect memory what happened next. She got up and held the room for the duration, I'm not sure I breathed the whole time she was up there. She was stunning - the sway of her hips mesmerizing - and I forgot for a moment that I'd be next. She got me to breath before going up, handed me a glass of dutch courage, which I downed in one, and then it went reasonably well considering. People laughed, but I'd like to think that they laughed with me ... at least by the end when I'd started to enjoy it a little ... must have been having a good time - I found I was dancing - ok, that wouldn't get by the trades description act, but I was moving roughly with the music!

And then we were looking again at the 'menu' and holding onto each other laughing at the possibilities. It wasn't a busy night and we could have taken over the mic the entire evening, once the party of gigglers on a Hen Night had left - who she made me sing with incidentally - but I believe that between us we did: two ballads, three miscellaneous love songs, something very grungy and a comedy duet before she made a short announcement while we were both up at the mic ...

"This one's for our good friend Sherlock - stand up and take a bow, Sherlock!" And then the slightly sleazy looking old man who'd been sitting in a darkened corner, nursing the same half pint all night stood up, raised his peeked hat and took an exaggeratedly elegant bow! "John, close your mouth - if I'd wanted to be particularly cruel, I'd have pointed him out before you got up here ..."

And then she was singing - I thought I'd recognised the long sax intro, but it still made me smile when she sang the lyrics 'Baker Street' ... oh very droll! We took the verses in turn and everyone in the room joined in the chorus - Sherlock excepted of course, though he didn't leave I notice!

Sherlock decided to join us when told we were going to "Mrs Wong's" afterwards - I had visions of brothels or at least a strip club which was making me feel very uncomfortable. I had a strong feeling that Sherlock's enthusiasm was at least partly related to whatever humiliation was coming next - sometimes his motivation is plain enough even to me.

Mrs Wong turned out to be a lecherous old Chinese friend of hers who might have been 97 or 137 depending on which calendar you went by or something. Mrs Wong did a lot of smiling and chatting away in Hakka apparently - which both my companions appear to speak fluently - while gesturing towards me. I got her to translate much of what was said, but still had the strong impression that there was some censoring going on and that some of the content was missed all together. Apparently I have a 'nice bum' and Mrs Wong would like me to 'sit on her knee' while we ate. Sherlock was severely reprimanded for trying to provide alternative translations - but I think on balance I'd rather not know.

Mrs Wong served us something undetermined in a large soup tureen, which she was very insistent that I ate saying I was too skinny. I'd swear I saw chicken legs and a few large eyes in there. But the worst part was X laughing as if her sides would split when she told me that it was all vegan and that the 'legs' were rubber from a joke shop that Mrs Wong had added as an extra when she'd heard I was on a 'dare'.

I'd get her next, I thought, as I considered what I could do to, if not exactly shock her, bring her up short a little. Far too blinking cocky, Missy!


	3. Chapter 3: The Upper Hand

**Dedicating this chapter to a fellow writer a lover of Sherlock, Aless. Thanks for caring enough to ask what's next - I'd forgotten to keep posting. More later, my friend ...**

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><p><strong>Chapter 3: <strong>**_The Upper Hand_**  
>And then it was my turn. My dress instructions were simple, dress warm, comfy shoes. When she arrived in the field and saw what I had in store, her eyes were huge and she'd gone several shades paler - "Oh you're good - you're really good! How on earth did you know about my thing with heights?"<p>

"Ah, doesn't take Sherlock to suss that one out - you like being in charge, and when you are, or doing something that other mortals would find truly terrifying, you don't even notice the height. Moment you stop, moment you haven't got control, you're in a tailspin. I saw how you blanched looking over your skylight that day as soon as the action was over. And, did you notice? I noticed! How every last one of your 'physical' challenge examples involved heights in some way.

"Let's see how you do with me in control and you just having to sit and do nothing." I was enjoying this. Felt like having the upper hand between us for the first time since I'd met her.

And then she did something quite unexpected ... she took hold of my hand. It was such a little thing - trusting and touching. I don't think if she's punched me in the gut she could have knocked the breath out of me more than that simple gesture.

It went well - if her crouching on the floor holding onto anything that she could for a while (my ankle amongst other things) - counts as well. The laughter got a little less hysterical when I handed her a small glass of chilled Champagne and she sat sipping it for a while. I'd not say that she was completely relaxed by the time we were underway, but she was definitely enjoying herself and told me more about her life, still sat on the floor of the basket, in that first glorious hour than she had for the whole of our interviews and chats during the months proceeding. How she'd grown up with older half brothers by both her parents. And a little of what happened after her parents died so suddenly as she was taking her A levels and that only denial had kept her going long enough to get through with a total of four good A grades, plus an additional A level in Chinese and an O level in Japanese.

She'd gone tomb-stoning in Cornwall after she left school, " _'cos feeling anything would be better than the overwhelming numbness I felt when they'd gone._" And been picked up by some European hitch-hikers who she travelled with over that summer. She toured with them working in small human circuses, along the lines of Cirque de Soleil, spending a good percentage of her working time upside down. It took her uncles to bring her back and get her back on track.

I'd thought hard about every constituent of that picnic - with a little help from her friends - and we enjoyed each mouthful together - no dares there. The whole thing was a much bigger success than I'd ever have though possible. After a relatively short while she was standing - still with a hand on me, but that was no hardship - and managing to enjoy the view.

She had a disconcerting way, I'd noticed, of kissing other men on the mouth in my presence - even Sherlock unbelievably - but not me. But she made an exception just that once. When we got back to 221B she leant in and whispered "Round one to you," and she kissed me for just long enough to _maybe_ be more than platonic ... and then she sped off into the night. Honestly, I'd have been a gentleman and walked _her_ home, but thought she'd come up and say hi to Sherlock - but no - and she was gone again taking a little piece of my heart with her.


	4. Chapter 4: Round Two

**Chapter 4: ****_Round Two_**

So - there _is_ a round two, I thought later, remembering her parting shot! I have to say as I'd chosen Dares we were done now, and was genuinely surprised when she said it was her turn and she was choosing 'Date' and I was to go first. And, as you'll be wondering, I'd avoided 'date' as it was too risky and raw if she didn't feel the same way as I was beginning to, as I believed she didn't. Bit of a double-edged sword and I knew who was about to get cut to ribbons.

Rules turned out to be roughly the same - only you get twelve hours and need two meals and two or more activities - cost ceiling was still the same, she says as it makes more of a challenge. Again she suggested best to go simple, not extravagant and rely more on what you know of that person - particularly if they aren't aware that you know. But maybe surprise them with something they'd not known they'd enjoy. And I got to go first this time, so no clues from what she would choose.

I'd met some of her friends but didn't ask if it was breaking the rules to get them involved. I figured if I didn't ask then it wasn't breaking a k_nown_ rule, at any rate and spent an afternoon with a very flirtatious Naomi who runs the shop that she got me to visit a few weeks back, for some shirts that she said didn't remind her of retired policemen. Anyway, Naomi was useful for tips on likes and dislikes and I had a reasonable game plan in my head for activities by the time I left - I think that Naomi had one in hers too, but I didn't stick around long enough to find out exactly what it entailed ...

Harry was surprisingly even more helpful - having somehow heard about what was happening - I do wonder how much she and Sherlock talk behind my back. She was so definite that a little old fashioned gentlemanly touches would go down well that I took onboard everything she suggested. "Honey, it's your style - but don't go for anything that can be taken as patronising - forget opening car doors - women these days feel insulted and not taken seriously - that thing you do with the hand on the back ... forget that one, like she's not capable of sitting down without you guiding her there ... nice touches like find out her favourite flowers and bring a small bouquet - not the flash ones, she's much more likely to go for something quirky - lily-of-the-valley, irises, violets - that kind of thing. Ask a friend of hers, or I'll find out for you - just ask, little brother.

"And if you're bringing chocolates, then very small number - three or four at most really good ones, hand made, preferably by you - nothing says '_I think you're a glutton_' more than a huge box, so don't be tempted to be flash. She likes truffles made with Cognac, by the way." _Now how does she know that?_

Harry wasn't wrong about the flowers - have you any idea how hard it is to get primroses in London this time of year!? No! Well neither did I until I asked. But I got them, thanks to a contact of Sherlock's, plus I made a small selection of chocs and a pretty box, ribbon the lot - didn't know I had it in me - could really go for the whole craft-scene ...

I had a few favours to call in from old army buddies. Frank and Ray were both in prime positions to help out ... So neither of my activities would cost a penny, leaving my money for food and miscellaneous expenses.

Text read Be ready 10am Fri - smart-casual, comfy shoes - await further instructions Jx

Yeah, I know the x was corny, but otherwise it read too formal somehow for a proper date this time. At 10am I rang her bell rather than sending a further text. She looked slightly distracted when answering the door, but then genuinely pleased when she saw it was me. "Don't like being rude to Jehovah Witnesses," she said. "I thought I was going to have to get rid of whoever ..."

Harry was right about both the flowers and the chocolates and I was rewarded with my second kiss on the lips - heaven! She took a tiny bite from one of the truffles and held the rest up to my mouth. "Those are for you!" I pleaded. But it was too tempting to eat from her hand to refuse.

We walked through London streets that, thanks to her, I was seeing very differently. She talked about the design and architecture of everything from the office blocks to the sweep of a curb or the choice of what she called street furniture - lampposts, signage. She knew all the font types and the materials used, down to the percentage mix of the concrete in some cases or where various bricks were sourced. Funnily enough the way she talked about those things it was neither nerdy nor tedious.

She was particularly excited about some garishly ugly post-modern buildings that, to me, stuck out like sore thumbs in amongst the older more sedate London buildings. Apparently they were so ugly that they were beautiful and, though she said she'd never have designed them herself, the contrasts between all the other styles of building - and there were at least a dozen that she could distinguish - was what made London such a joy to walk through. I dropped getting the tube - all I could afford on my budget - as we were enjoying this unexpected part of the 'date'.

And there we were at the art house cinema that Ray had bought with an inheritance and his disability pension. Just for one morning he was playing an old copy of Casablanca - I take credit for knowing she loved that, and remembering she'd said she'd have loved to have seen it in a proper cinema. Ray had begged, borrowed or stolen - I wasn't about to look a gift-horse - for the occasion.

This time my bag contained pop-corn for two and a couple of chilled cans - having first checked my sources for what she went for. Given we had the run of the place she got to choose where to sit and shyly asked if I'd mind sitting on the floor in the aisle - after all we had the place to ourselves - once in a lifetime opportunity. She sat in her usual strange position with her feet together and knees right out to the sides - balancing the bag of popcorn on her feet.

As the film progressed I found she was sitting progressively closer to me, so that by the time it was obvious that the films protagonists weren't going to get together after all, she had her hand on my thigh, which was making it rather hard to concentrate on the plot.

It always stuns me when I come out a matinee that the suns is still shining outside. And it really was unseasonably warm that day too. Walking to our next destination was a pleasure - though I doubt I'd have noticed a hurricane approaching when with her.

Frank turned up trumps with dinner. Simple, intimate and incidentally very tasty. Naomi had tipped me off about her love of Nepalese cooking and it went well. Frank and his wife run Salsa classes too, so ready made activity afterwards with the prefect excuse to touch her again. And then Frank's son, who works as a cycle rickshaw driver for a local supermarket, gave us a lift back to her place. I got coffee - but who knows, I'm beginning to think that anything is possible ...


	5. Chapter 5: Dream Date

**Chapter 5: ****_Dream Date_**

Sherlock and I had another case on after that and we postponed meeting for the duration. I'd just written up the case when her text came ready for your 'date'? - 9.30am Saturday? Sherlock was already immersed in a another new case, this one mostly forensic, but not medical, at that stage, so he didn't yet need me. I texted back an agreement.

And then Saturday came and I was ready. Dressed to the nines, though no idea where my favourite shoes had gone, and with a tasteful bunch of flowers for my 'date'. I needn't have bothered as the text came back clothes on yr bed - 10.30am POST CODE - forbid 2 bring *anything* but yrself & what u stand up in! XX

I went tentatively into my room, giving Sherlock, who was doing a good impersonation of someone who had no idea what was going on, a side on look. And yes, I was gobsmacked to find my army combat trousers and a t-shirt laid out on the bed - now why would she think that painting-balling would be my idea of a fun date!? What kind of 'date' could this be I thought, it was shaping up more like a dare to my mind ...

... and I'm not sure what Sherlock was thinking when I left a jug of flowers on his desk on leaving ... I didn't stick around long enough to hear any snide asides, though I swear I heard a snigger as I pulled the door to ...

So here I was again in a street this time with no sign of her and then I heard a loud, raspy voice ... "Your boyfriend's here!" And looking up I saw her smiling down and read her lips, saying, "I said he was my 'date' not my boyfriend", ... _more's the pity_...

And then out loud, "Come on up John, second door on the right at the top of the stairs."

It was a largish hall, laid out with exercise mats and inhabited by a dozen or so young people all with some visible disability. The original voice had come from a young woman with Downs Syndrome and sparkling eyes.

"Slip off your shoes, that's your mat next to Annie who will show you the ropes," she said, indicating the young woman who'd spoken from the window.

And there I stood, feeling a right twot again but trusting she knew what she was doing. And I wasn't disappointed; I'd never tried yoga before. The karaoke had been fun, but this was a blast. Any of them with Downs Syndrome could do anything requiring supple legs - it was incredible to see - less good with balancing, so there was something I didn't look so stupid doing. Annie was patience itself, but I caught the odd eye-roll as I bumbled along and the two of us ended up falling about laughing when she tried to help me with something she called a Downward Dog. I've literally never had that much fun in my life.

And when it was over, it was hugs all round. And Annie insisted that I should hug my date. Three seconds of bliss.

When they'd all gone with many invites and insistence that I joined the class, she handed me a large bag which contained my usual day clothes - so that's where my shoes had got to - and, once I'd changed, a puffy looking jacket and trousers, "So we're skiing then?" I asked. She laughed as she handed me a pair of leather boots followed by a helmet. And only then I got it - motorcycle - but I didn't ride ... this could be a short date ... and she wasn't donning similar attire, having just changed into jeans and denim jacket.

"Kevlar," she said, tapping a denim thigh and smiling. And then there was the bike - her bike as it turned out, and just the one, so I didn't need to worry about the driving side at all. "Lean into the bends, don't push down on the foot rests," she advised, "Hold around my waist, you can feel when to move more easier that way."

And we were off. It wasn't a long journey and she'd given signals for various eventuality, none of which I had any inclination to use as I was enjoying the proximity and, after a while, the speed.

She bought us bags of fish and chips and ate them sitting on a wall looking out to sea, swinging our feet like school kids on an outing. She'd left the bike by what looked like a Salt bin, but which contained a small backpack containing several items that came in useful through the afternoon and meant we could leave our biking gear as she had a padlock fitted to it. And again she took my hand and we walked over the pebbles talking of all kinds of things that I'd never even said to my therapist and feeling so calm and right that I knew I'd not regret one word afterwards.

I watched birds through the binoculars she'd brought, while she told me what I was looking at. Her descriptions were so detailed that I could do without the binoculars or looking at the birds at all - her knowledge was profound on their habits too. I held my own when it came to the local geology and I think pulled a little ahead when it came to the fauna and flora. The time went quickly and pleasantly and I can honestly say I cannot remember ever being that relaxed when in company. If she hadn't before, then she'd have stolen my heart that afternoon.

She preferred to look through the lens of her camera than the binoculars and took a number of photos, until I realized that I had become the subject of her latest one. When I protested she said that she'd delete anything I didn't like - but that I would like them. She smiled confidently but said she wouldn't let me see until she'd uploaded them onto her MacBook later.

She took me to see Derek Jarman's garden and pointed out all the abandoned boats and we picked up interesting drift wood. It was beautiful in its bleakness.

It was the simplest of dates, and yet perfect. I would not change one detail of that day, except that she would be mine of course. But I was beginning to think that was not so impossible now. I wasn't about to spoil anything or break any of the rules of the Game though, so I enjoyed the moment and pretended to myself that she was already.

It didn't end there either. We walked until we seemed to happen upon a small cottage - the door was miraculously open and she led me inside ... for dinner that she'd cooked earlier and heated as I waited. How she knew I had a particular thing for Lebanese food I shall never know ...

Now that one *you* win, I whispered into her ear, leaning in to kiss her, my eyes half shut, so it took a moment to realise that she's moved away, her fingertips lightly resting on my chest to push me away. "John, it's easy to get carried away in the moment ... It's an artificial situation ... someone being completely there for you for so long ... Really not a good idea ... " And then we rode back - And my heart broke all over again.

The next time we met she was friendly and there was no hint that the 'date' had ended so badly - I figured she didn't hold grudges. I was wondering whether to apologise again myself for misreading her intensions but she got in the moment that Sherlock was out getting some weird component in one of his experiments.

She was sitting in her usual position on the sofa, feet together, knees bent outwards, MacBook on her lap, uploading the photos she'd taken the previous day. She started by showing them to me and asking which I wanted deleted - well obviously none, I've never much liked photos of me before - I tend to look like a school boy in his dad's clothes or rather shifty, as if I've been caught with my hand in the cookie jar, as they say. These were great. I was in the pictures, but it was about the place and the relationship between the figure and the environment, rather than a straight forward portrait. So no deletions.

And then she explained about the Game and how disastrous it could be if you broke the rules. She said she hoped that I felt like she did, that the cobwebs had been dusted out of our friendship and that we could carry on like before but without the underlying tension. She said that our friendship had become so important to her that she'd do anything not to spoil it. And I did what any gentleman would do and kissed her on the cheek and agreed. Having your heart surgically removed while still conscious would at least be quicker than this, if no more painful.

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><p>This is the last chapter I've written on this story. It's really a way of letting my readers know why John could have fallen in love so suddenly and fully and to justify the other, more action orientated stories that have this character.<p>

I'm leaving it ambiguous as to whether she's really a good person or not and whether there is something mysterious from her past that will come to haunt them later - you can bet your bottom dollar there will be!

More of her later, just not in this story. Hope there's enough to justify writing it.


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